I am a reasonably simple misanthrope. If you write me a personalized e-mail invoking acid-addled jam sessions hatched in a desert ghost town east of Indio, I will probably at least check out your music. If it’s good, I will eventually post it. Ideally, you will bribe me with said acid, mescaline, or enough DMT to believe that I am listening to your songs on a magic carpet.
The problem is that most lysergic flails usually curdle like a String Cheese Experience left out too long in the sun. Red Ferguson are the exception and thus, here you are reading these words on a blog stranded in the middle of the Internet. The story of how the Ferguson’s formed is in the previous post I wrote them two years ago. The videos above and below capture the band jamming via generator and field mixer. Their closest analogue is a young Atoms for Peace, but I suspect they’re halfway to the point where all comparisons should be deadened. I was high on their first songs two years ago and I am now higher. That is progression in my book.
